


The L Words

by nihonlove



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, F/M, Katsuki Yuuri the Oblivious Heartbreaker, M/M, Oblivious Katsuki Yuuri, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 03:38:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10069508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nihonlove/pseuds/nihonlove
Summary: "Yuuri, you may not realize this, but many others besides me got their 'L words' from you."Or: Five times someone had a one-sided crush on Katsuki Yuuri, and one time the crush was mutual.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by all the talk on tumblr about Katsuki Yuuri the Oblivious Heartbreaker, a headcanon which I subscribe to most adamantly :3. Plus it felt like it was about time I wrote a 5+1 fic, since I'm always eager to try new things with my writing :).
> 
> Special thanks to my friend justkeeponwriting for beta-reading!

1.

The first time Nishigori Takeshi met Katsuki Yuuri, he was seven years old.

It was at the skating club at Ice Castle Hasetsu. Takeshi had been a member for a little less than a year, and Yuuri was the new kid, just starting out. The instructor had introduced Yuuri to him and the other few kids in the club, the younger boy blushing and avoiding looking directly at anyone. He didn’t seem to want to talk about himself, only offering a small wave in greeting. He was a bit chubby, and the smile he tried to give to everyone was shaky, his cheeks soft and pink. Takeshi immediately dismissed him as too timid and too boring; one of those kids whose parents had made them join the club in order to have them out of the house, who would either sulk through the lessons and/or quit them very soon. There was no reason to place any attention to this one.

But the strange thing was, once Yuuri got on the ice…it was like he transformed. His movements were a bit clunky, of course, showing that he was still a beginner, but…there was something about the way he moved. There was innate grace to him, and he was able to control his body a lot better than any of the other beginners Takeshi had seen. And he’d seen plenty, even before he himself had been allowed out on the ice, seeing as his parents ran Ice Castle Hasetsu. Yuuri stayed up on his feet in his skates, and was able to control his speed and movements. He looked almost like he was flying when he was on the ice. His flying may still be like a baby bird’s, but he was doing it nonetheless.

And Takeshi couldn’t take his eyes off him.

But it also pissed him the hell off. Because Yuuri was better than he had been when he’d started out. If he continued the way he was doing now, he’d be better than Takeshi was _now_ , with only little improvement. Takeshi loved skating, loved the feeling of his skates gliding forward and cutting through the smoothness underneath, and loved watching skaters both in life and on TV create something beautiful and graceful with their bodies out on the ice. He dreamed of doing something like that one day, being able to enchant people the way that the skaters he watched enchanted him.

The way Yuuri enchanted him.

But he also wasn’t stupid, no matter what his elementary school teachers had to say. He knew he wasn’t improving fast enough in practice. He knew he wasn’t built like a skater, having inherited his father’s heavy, stocky form. He didn’t have the type of grace required to move well on the ice, nor the talent to make it far. He’d used to tell his mother proudly, “One day I’m going to skate just like them!” when they watched the international competitions. His mother always smiled in return, and said, “Of course you are, dear.”

In the past, Takeshi had thought she’d meant it. Now, he was slowly beginning to realize she’d just been humoring him. She wasn’t cruel enough to tell him what he could and could not do, but she also ran an ice rink and had seen dozens of young skaters come and go through its doors. She wasn’t always right, but more often than not, she did get inklings of who had what it took to make it. And Takeshi was becoming more and more certain he wasn’t going to be one of them.

But Katsuki Yuuri…his junior by a whole year, chubby like him, shy and quiet…Takeshi could almost see the way his mother would analyze him and his skating, even so early on as this. And Takeshi could already tell that if Yuuri decided this was what he would throw himself into, if he had what it took to work for it…he could be something great. He was almost sure of it.

He hated that about Yuuri. But he also hated that whenever Yuuri got on the ice, Takeshi was never able to look away. His eyes were always following Yuuri, and it distracted him even further from his own practice. The instructor was grilling him on that all the time now. Meanwhile, Yuuri was fast improving, and as Takeshi had predicted, was becoming better than him already.

Yuuri, for his part, seemed to want to avoid Takeshi as much as he could. That, too, pissed Takeshi off, because he wanted Yuuri to look at him the way he was always looking at Yuuri. Maybe then he’d feel more like he was worth something too, and maybe Yuuri would be the one who would get scolded for not paying attention to the instructor. But Takeshi could also admit he hadn’t given the younger boy a very good reason to approach him. From the beginning, Takeshi had been pushing Yuuri around, calling him names and shoving him, both on the ice and off it. Yuuri was honestly pretty jumpy around him, and had even gained Yuuko on his side on this matter.

Takeshi wasn’t even sure what compelled him to be so mean to Yuuri, when they were supposed to be rink mates and cheer each other on. All he knew was that Yuuri just didn’t pay any attention to him when Takeshi wasn’t saying or doing something mean, and that just pissed Takeshi off even more. He wanted Yuuri’s attention. He wanted Yuuri to look at him.

He wanted Yuuri to skate for him.

A few years passed like this. Yuuri continued to improve. Yuuko too. Takeshi, not so much. He still went to the skating club with them, and never really stopped skating, but he could tell he was being left behind. He’d never be as good as Yuuri and Yuuko, let alone the skaters they watched on TV. He’d never be a professional. He was slowly coming to terms with that.

He still watched Yuuri skate at practice, and was more enchanted by it every time. But Yuuri had become Yuuko’s friend, and Yuuko was also Takeshi’s friend, and the three of them slowly started to hang out together as a group. He and Yuuri didn’t talk much to each other at first, only to Yuuko, but just being in Yuuri’s presence seemed to make it much harder to be nasty to him. Especially when he sometimes seemed to fragile and quiet, like the world was weighing down on him. It wasn’t very fun to kick someone who was already down, Takeshi realized.

He still resented Yuuri a little, because what did he have to worry about? He had the talent and – Takeshi had quickly come to realize – the determination to make it big. Yuuri’s family seemed nice enough, and he seemed to be pretty close with his older sister, too. But at the same time, as Takeshi grew more and more used to the idea that he probably would never become a professional skater, and Yuuri just might, he resented him less and less, little by little. He figured that at least, maybe, he’d one day get to see Yuuri enchant everyone on TV like he already enchanted Takeshi.

By the time they saw Viktor Nikiforov skate on TV at his Junior World Championships in Bulgaria, and Yuuri found someone to be enchanted by in turn, Takeshi was basically over his resentment of Yuuri. They were becoming friends for real, and sometimes talked even without Yuuko there, mostly in the boys’ locker rooms at the Ice Castle. He grew fond of Yuuri, and that seemed to loosen something in his chest, especially when he could now have Yuuri’s attention in a more positive way. And Yuuri was a good friend to have: kind, loyal and a good listener. As the years went by, their relationship got better and Yuuri became one of the few people Takeshi could really call a real friend in his life.

It also became easier to tolerate Yuuri’s talent when Yuuko told them that she didn’t really dream about big competitions or a decorative career in skating, despite her own talent. It seemed that out of the three of them, Yuuri might be the only one who might make it somewhere in professional skating. Takeshi was beginning to find it was much nicer to encourage him to do his best, try and help him when he grew anxious about his progress or, surprisingly enough, his weight gain. They had more in common than Takeshi had at first realized. He and Yuuko also began to find something new that they had in common, being the joint supporters of Yuuri who also still loved skating, but would probably never leave their hometown of Hasetsu. There would have to be newer, smaller dreams for them in life. And rather quickly, the two of them understood they wanted to share those dreams with each other, while Yuuri would step out into the big world and make something of himself. For all three of them.

Nishigori Takeshi grew out of whatever he had felt in the first few years of knowing Katsuki Yuuri.

But he never stopped being enchanted by his skating.

 

2.

The first time Hanami Matsuko met Katsuki Yuuri, she was 16 years old.

They were in the same class together in their high school in Hasetsu, and already on the first day, Matsuko found her eyes tracing Katsuki-kun’s profile where he sat a few rows removed from her. She quickly found herself fascinated by him. It wasn’t hard to realize that Katsuki-kun was a smart and dedicated student. He didn’t offer answers in class unless he was prompted by the teacher, but when he was, his answers were nearly always correct. Matsuko also learned from the gossip her friends shared with her that Katsuki-kun got some of the highest marks in his tests. He wasn’t bad at any subject, but his best one was definitely English, which he spoke miles better than anyone else in class; a fact that was clear by the few times he offered samples of his skills. Matsuko secretly even thought he might be better at it than their teacher.

Katsuki-kun was a quiet boy. He didn’t seem to have many actual friends, at least not in his own class. He was generally seen hanging around with a few older students, a boy and a girl, but other than that, it was almost like he wanted to blend into the wall and disappear from sight. It was surprisingly easy for him to do, too, because Matsuko could swear that he hardly made any sound when he moved from place to place. In any case there always seemed to be a strange sort of grace surrounding him, in the way he moved. It was almost as if he was more aware of his body and his surroundings than anyone else, and more light on his feet. He wasn’t anything like the loud, boisterous other boys in their class. Perhaps that was what Matsuko liked the most about him.

She sometimes thought about approaching him, of going over to where he sat and speaking to him. Maybe she could ask him to help her with her English? But every time she looked over, Katsuki-kun looked so beautiful in the light coming in from the windows, which made his fluffy dark hair and his brown eyes shine, that she didn’t dare. It didn’t help that Katsuki-kun always emulated that sort of aura that was asking everyone to stay far, far away from him. It seemed to say that being close to him would just be awkward and terrible for all parties involved.

Matsuko’s friends teased her about her crush. Some of them didn’t really understand it, didn’t see the appeal of someone so cold and standoffish as Katsuki-kun. Others were more understanding. But there was one thing they all agreed upon. It was a lost cause to like Katsuki-kun. He always seemed to just come to school, do what he was supposed to do, and leave as quickly as he could at the end of the day.

“He probably already has someone,” Taeko speculated. “He goes to see them every day, because they’re super in love.”

“I think his parents own a business,” Sae said. “He probably just has to help out. A lot of businesses have had to cut back on regular staff lately…”

“You’re both wrong,” Ayumi commented. “I live close to Ice Castle Hasetsu, and I happened to spot Katsuki-kun coming and going from there once, so I’ve been keeping an eye out. He’s there just about every night, I think. He’s probably just convinced he’s going to be the next great Japanese skater or something.”

Matsuko got over her crush within the year, because it really seemed like Katsuki-kun had no interest in dating and spent all his time ice skating. Before she quite did, however, Matsuko turned on the Junior Nationals for figure skating that year, and actually saw Katsuki-kun there. And he _won_ , too. By that point she realized there was no hope for her. She didn’t know much about the sport (at least at the time), but even she could tell that Katsuki-kun’s skating was something entirely different from his fellow competitors. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him show so much emotion as during those few minutes that he spent on the ice. It was like he was only really alive when he was out there, making his body into an instrument that showed something beautiful to the rest of the world. His body on the ice was his tool for showing the storm that was inside, and that he normally hid.

Matsuko had never found him more beautiful, but she also had never understood better how hopeless and useless her crush on Katsuki-kun really was. It was clear to her now that Katsuki-kun’s true love was the ice, and she wasn’t sure if he would ever love anything or anyone quite as much as he loved skating. Someone who loved it just as much as he did could perhaps measure, but Matsuko knew very well that that person would not be her.

Matsuko didn’t end up dating anyone during high school. She spent her time bettering her grades and silently cheering on Katsuki-kun at every ice skating competition he attended, all of which she watched. She got accepted to Kyushu University in Fukuoka after graduation, and eventually met her future husband there. They remained in Fukuoka; she became a teacher and he worked as a secretary for a business. They had two children together.

Matsuko didn’t stop watching ice skating, and didn’t stop cheering Katsuki-kun on at every competition he went to. And when he got tackled into a kiss by his new coach (as a long-time skating fan, she knew of course who Viktor Nikiforov was, but she was never that big of a fan of his. Him winning everything every time was beginning to feel a bit unfair to her) at the Cup of China in 2015, she thought to herself, ‘Oh. You found him,’ and smiled.

 

3.

The first time Phichit Chulanont met Katsuki Yuuri, he was 16 years old.

He had known of Yuuri well before that, of course. Had even seen him around at the Junior ice skating competitions they were both in at the same time. There was no one in Juniors who didn’t know who Katsuki Yuuri was.

Katsuki Yuuri in ice skating competitions was…magnificent. Like a brush that paints a picture right before your eyes into a beautiful piece of art on the ice. He flubbed his jumps sometimes, sure, but there was always so much musicality and grace to his movements even then that you just couldn’t look away. Yuuri didn’t always win in Juniors, but it was a known fact that he always medaled. He’d moved onto the Seniors relatively late, when he was just shy of 18, and in his last year in Juniors he had taken gold at the Junior Grand Prix Final and the Junior World Championships, and got bronze the Four Continents. Not to even mention the Japanese Junior Nationals, of course. Phichit would know. He had followed Yuuri’s career very diligently over the years. He was Phichit’s idol.

And now they would not only be sharing a coach and a rink, but also an apartment at a training facility in Detroit.

Phichit was ecstatic for more reason than one. Although it stung more than he could say that he’d had to leave behind his home in Bangkok, with his friends and his family still remaining, he knew this was the right choice if he truly wanted to improve. To become a better skater, to make a name for himself. Figure skating was fairly obscure in Thailand, and there just weren’t good enough opportunities for him to grow if he stayed there. His parents had the means to send him over to America to train, and were encouraging of all their children bettering themselves in any way they could (Phichit also had a sister studying in Canada). His mother had still cried when they’d seen him off at the airport, while his father had only told him, “Make us proud, because I know you can.” And then Phichit had started crying too.

Still, as positive as Phichit was in coming here, it turned out Detroit was…cold. In more ways than one, again. The weather is something else entirely when compared to Thailand’s warmth, being frigid and dry to the degree that it stung as it hit your skin, but it also seemed as though the cold had gotten inside the people in Detroit and frozen them, too. No one seemed to smile, to be excited about anything. Phichit’s new rink mates were nice enough, but they were mostly wrapped up in doing their own thing, rather than being interested in how Phichit was doing or what he had to say.

His tutor for regular school was not much better; not interested in small talk or social media, and only wanting Phichit to focus on his studies. Phichit was no stranger to strict teachers, but somehow the lady he’d been assigned in Detroit seemed like the worst of them all. The only one Phichit felt like he could depend on was his new coach, Celestino Cialdini. But his time was also divided between Phichit and all his other rink mates, so he also demanded focus whenever Phichit was the one he was giving his attention to.

As for Yuuri, well…

Phichit had known Yuuri was standoffish. He had never really seemed to interact with anyone in competitions, at least not outside the bare minimum of polite greetings and a few words about how one is doing. But when Phichit had come to America, he’d been hoping for a roommate that would be like a real best friend; a brother from another mother, like he was always seeing in the American sitcoms he had watched to both improve his English and because they were hilarious.

But Yuuri was…quiet. Kept to himself. Barely even acknowledged Phichit.

Just like everyone else in Detroit.

It was lonely. It made Phichit more homesick than ever. Not to mention he hadn’t expected his new training to be so harsh and demanding, both mentally and physically. He had been unprepared for what it would be like to have a proper coach, to truly work at a professional level as an athlete on top of keeping up with his education and trying to manage puberty. He put on a brave face for his family when they Skyped together, and hid the fact that at night in the dark, he cried and mourned the disappointment he would be to his parents if he returned home without even staying in Detroit for two months.

Then, one night, when he came back to the apartment from a particularly rigorous training session, he came back to a cooked meal on the table. Thai food. Which Yuuri had cooked for the two of them.

Phichit cried in front of someone else for the first time in Detroit that night, and though Yuuri was awkward in his attempts at comforting him, clumsily offering tissues and a (warm) hand on his shoulder, that night changed something between them. Yuuri’s cooking wasn’t quite authentic Thai, not like Phichit was used to back at home, but it was still a home-cooked meal, and tasted surprisingly good. They ended up talking that night, about how hard it was to adjust to a whole new country with a different culture and language and without anyone who really knew you, about their home countries and towns, and about their likes and dislikes. They stayed up far too late, but even in the morning, exhausted as he was, Phichit couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

Their relationship didn’t change immediately, even after that. It grew in steps. If Yuuri was going out running, Phichit would offer to join him. If it was going to be cold or rainy that day, Yuuri would remind Phichit to dress warm and bring an umbrella in the morning. If Phichit was watching a movie, he would invite Yuuri to join him. If Phichit was struggling with English, Yuuri would find a way to help him, somehow without ever sounding condescending. They met each other halfway, and before they fully realized it, they had grown together, and Phichit felt like there was nothing he couldn’t tell Yuuri. Detroit didn’t feel as cold with Yuuri in it.

Yuuri remained magnificent on the ice in Phichit’s eyes. In some ways, he became even more glorious when Phichit got to witness him in practice, because it seemed that Yuuri shone the brightest when there wasn’t really an audience; just his rink mates doing their own thing and Celestino giving a guiding hand. Unlike Phichit, who needed rink mates and their support to grow, Yuuri preferred the deep support of only one or two people. Phichit found himself in that role for him, trying his best to see something he could help better in Yuuri, even from the brilliance that tended to outshine everything else for him in Yuuri’s skating.

Once you got past Yuuri’s walls, it was easy to find he was kind, smart, and gentle. He was always very careful with his words, not speaking all that much, but he expressed his feelings through gestures loud and clear. He cooked for him and Phichit, did the laundry for them when Phichit couldn’t drag his body off their couch after a long day, watched Phichit carefully on the ice and asked about his day. He let Phichit do most of the talking, which suited Phichit just fine; he had more than enough words for the both of them. And since he and Yuuri spent so much time together, he quickly learned to read Yuuri’s unsaid words in his eyes and on his face when he couldn’t form them with his mouth.

It was after their first competitive season as rink mates, not long after the two of them finally had a real conversation about why Yuuri performed so much better in practice than in the actual arena (“I…have a lot of anxiety,”), that it hit Phichit. They were relaxing together on Phichit’s bed, like on so many nights before, trying to distract themselves from the heaviness of the outside world by watching _The King and the Skater_ for the umpteenth time (it never got old). And suddenly Phichit realized he had been staring at Yuuri’s face and reading his words there (that moment they seemed to be ‘happy, content, my mind is a bit more quiet right now’) instead of focusing on his favorite movie.

Oh.

And that was that.

Phichit had admired Yuuri for a long time, of course. Had always found him good-looking and loved the way he skated. They got along well and Phichit could probably say without any arrogance that they were the closest person to each other in Detroit. In the not-too-long time he’d come to know Yuuri, Phichit had already come to consider him his best friend. It was strange, because Phichit had friends in Thailand he had known much longer, but he and Yuuri just…clicked, somehow. It felt almost like they had been meant to meet.

Nothing really changed. Phichit felt around the air for a bit about his interactions with Yuuri, but…nothing. He was fairly sure Yuuri didn’t see him as anything other than a friend, or possibly a type of a little brother. He never got any sort of vibes with Yuuri, and he liked to think he knew his friend pretty well by now. It made sense. Yuuri was, after all, a good three years older than him; a college student and an adult. He probably saw Phichit as a child still. A child he could be friends with, but probably wouldn’t date. Yuuri was too decent a human for that, Phichit was pretty sure.

Strangely, Phichit found himself more okay with that than he would’ve expected based on American romantic movies. He had Yuuri as a friend, a very close friend. He knew Yuuri cared for him, and Phichit cared for Yuuri in return, no matter what type of care it was. No one could take that away from him. He still got to see Yuuri skate in practice and eat his cooking and watch movies with him. No matter how many years they may spend together training like this, or how many they may someday spend training apart, no one would ever take the time they had away from them. That would always be theirs. And Phichit found himself surprisingly content with that. He’d always have Yuuri’s friendship. And for him, no matter what he might otherwise feel in his heart, was enough.

It was sometime later that Yuuri asked if he wanted to watch the European Championships with him on his laptop. And as they watched Viktor Nikiforov take to the ice, Phichit realized it might not just be his age that prevented Yuuri from liking him like that. He knew Yuuri’s expressions pretty well, after all. It was further confirmed when Yuuri finally allowed Phichit access to his room.

Phichit didn’t mourn over Yuuri. Over time, his affections melted into an even deeper friendship, the best and dearest he would have in his entire life, and one that would last a lifetime. He let the process work itself through him over time, not thinking much more about it. He knew he’d love again someday.

Until then, and even after, he’d still have Yuuri’s friendship, and the memories they’d made to carry with him.

 

4.

The first time Lara Ruiz met Katsuki Yuuri, she was 18 years old.

They were in the same skating club in Detroit, and went to the same college at Wayne State. Right on the first day, when Coach Celestino introduced Yuuri as the newcomer, Lara was the one to offer to show him around. She’d been in this skating club for two years, and knew everyone and everything pretty well. Plus, Yuuri was cute and looked like he could use someone to bring him out his shell, the way he seemed shy and skittish.

Yuuri allowed the tour, but didn’t speak much, even when Lara did. He barely answered any of her questions, giving her only one or two word answers. Lara was mostly fine with that, though. People tended to say she talked too much, so it was nice to have someone around who for once listened. It was a bit disappointing that when asked, Yuuri told her he couldn’t hang out later. He stated that he was still getting used to the time difference and had stuff to unpack.

But Lara had never been one to give up; she hadn’t made the ladies’ singles podium so often by sheer talent alone, even though it certainly hadn’t hurt. So, if she came across Yuuri somewhere by himself (and honestly, he almost always was), she would try and go cheer up him and talk to him. After all, she didn’t want him to be lonely. Lara hadn’t needed to move from a whole other country to train under Celestino, and it still had been hard on her, being so far from everything and everyone she had ever known. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like for Yuuri.

But Yuuri just…never took to her attempts at trying to become closer to him. He always seemed to jump whenever Lara came to talk to him, and although he was always polite to her and didn’t ask her to leave, Lara could tell he was uncomfortable and that he wanted to keep his distance. He still barely spoke to her.

It was a real shame, too, because she could tell Yuuri was a phenomenal skater who worked hard and was committed to the sport. Lara considered herself to be like that too, so shouldn’t they at least have a common ground there? But even when Lara tried to show off her skating and get the conversation going that way, all Yuuri did was give polite, mild compliments rather than the whooping cheers Lara was used to from her friends at the skating club.

But strangely, all that did was motivate her to work harder. She’d become so amazing that even Yuuri couldn’t avoid praising her a little more. That at least was beneficial for her, and Celestino praised her for her hard work and motivation. She got gold that year at American Nationals.

Yuuri congratulated her when she returned, and gave her a soft smile. It was small and quiet, but Lara felt it was genuine. And that was enough. For now. What mattered was that she was finally making progress. Being great at skating was clearly the way to Yuuri’s heart.

She kept talking to Yuuri, hoping to make him accustomed to her presence. Maybe that would help with making him talk? She told him about nationals and other competitions she had been to, hoping that might impress him. This did help to break the ice at least a little, it seemed, because Yuuri’s answers got a bit longer, but not much more personal. He listened to her talk about her competitions, but didn’t offer information about his own. He didn’t talk about himself much in any case, although he did begin to share a bit about skating and school, and let her talk when she wanted to. He just…barely reciprocated, and it was getting a little frustrating.

It got a bit better next year when Phichit joined their ranks. The two boys were rooming together, Celestino wanting to encourage them to draw support from one another in a foreign country, and they seemed to be forming a friendship. If Phichit was around, it was usually a bit easier to get Yuuri to talk, especially if Lara made her questions just subtle enough so that Phichit would ask them for her. That helped with finally gaining a few personal stories about Yuuri; about his hometown and his old rink and his childhood friends.

Lara liked Phichit, although he was a bit young, but she still wished she could just get Yuuri to open up without Phichit there as some kind of weird chaperone.

It was sometime after the first competitive season following Phichit joining their skating club that said boy had a small accident at the rink. It wasn’t life-threatening or anything, but Phichit had a bad fall due to a bad landing from a jump, and hurt his leg. Yuuri and Lara were both present at the rink at the time. Yuuri looked absolutely terrified at seeing Phichit in so much pain, his face pale and his hands shaking as he tried to soothe his friend while he and Celestino helped him off the ice and to Celestino’s car so they could take him to the emergency room. Lara went to fetch the first-aid kit and a cold package for Phichit, and then followed them to the car. She wasn’t going to just wait around for a call about Phichit’s condition. The mere thought felt unbearable. She knew there wouldn’t be much she could do, even at the hospital with them, but it felt like a better idea than staying behind and trying to pretend like nothing was wrong. She and Yuuri applied first aid on Phichit’s leg, and Celestino allowed him to hold it up against the dashboard in his car – something he normally absolutely forbade.

It being the emergency room, they had to wait around for quite some time before Phichit was admitted to be examined, seeing as his injury wasn’t that serious. Yuuri seemed almost like he had swallowed his tongue, unable to say a single word since they’d arrived. He was still pale and seemed to be shaking. Phichit put his arm around him, comforting Yuuri perhaps even more than Yuuri comforted him. Lara tried to distract herself with the magazines, while Phichit watched the single ancient TV high on the wall with a very rattling image. He and Yuuri exchanged glances once in a while, but they didn’t say anything more to each other as they sat huddled together. Celestino asked about how Phichit was feeling once in a while, and if he needed anything, and then tried to go and see if the line could move a little faster from a nurse for the tenth time that night.

They were all tense and scared. Before they knew how serious it was, they wouldn’t be able to rest. Phichit was a bit green as a skater still, but he had talent and artistry; he was a natural-born entertainer. Lara didn’t want to see his light being snuffed out before it could even fully begin to shine.

Finally, Phichit was admitted to see a doctor and Celestino went with him. Lara and Yuuri stayed behind. They continued to sit in silence for a while, but in the end, Lara couldn’t stand it any longer. She tried to comfort Yuuri, first by words that he didn’t really respond to, and then by wrapping her arms around him. She figured it would be fine since Phichit had done it too. That did indeed get a reaction, but not the one she’d been hoping for. Yuuri stiffened in her arms, and shoved her away from him with enough force to make her fall on the floor.

He seemed just as flabbergasted at what he’d just done as Lara was, and apologized profusely multiple times. And although Lara reassured him it was all right, not everything was. Although they were eventually told Phichit had only a sprain and would need some time off, but not so much that it would end his career, something was not all right.

Lara realized that day that if Yuuri wanted to be chased, he would’ve given in by now, or at least given a little bit back. But he seemed to resent her attention as much as he did when they’d first met. And it wasn’t just because that was how he was, either, because she knew he was completely different when he was with Phichit.

So it was honestly just about her.

She cried that night in her room, and a few more nights in the upcoming weeks. It was hard to have to see Yuuri every day at the rink and get used to not going over and talking to him. He gave her polite nods in greeting when they saw each other, and she responded in kind, but they no longer really talked. She still watched him skate, still sometimes heard about him from Phichit when he came back to the rink, still sometimes saw him around at campus, but they didn’t really interact anymore. She hung out again with her real friends and Yuuri grew closer to Phichit, taking care of him as best he could during his injury. They both threw themselves into training.

She made her short program that year about losing something that was never really hers in the first place, and yet still missing it. She got silver at the Ladies’ Grand Prix Final that year, which was the best she had ever done at that competition. She cried openly at the podium, and while dedicating her success to him in part, let go of Katsuki Yuuri.

 

5.

The first time Christophe Giacometti met Katsuki Yuuri, he was 15 years old.

They were both competing in the Junior Division of skating at the time, Chris for the last year before he was to move up to the Senior Division, and Yuuri just starting out. Chris didn’t actually remember all that much about that particular competition, or about that first meeting, too focused on his own skating and making his mark before he was to move on and up to bigger things and better skaters. Skaters like Viktor Nikiforov.

Chris won gold that year at the Junior GPF, and silver at Junior Worlds. That gold would be the last international one he was ever going to get outside of the Grand Prix Series, not that he knew it then. He was still full of hope, ambition and faith.

He didn’t actually get to see Yuuri’s performance that year, but he did remember he placed fifth in Junior Worlds, which was by no means bad for a skater so young and so inexperienced. He also did get to tell this to Yuuri in words afterwards, because Chris had always been courteous to his fellow skaters and liked to be friendly with them. After all, there were only a select few people in the world that could really understand the pull of the ice, the way it kept bringing you back for more and more, and how it was difficult to have much of a life outside of it. Yuuri was only two years his junior, and if he continued to improve, Chris was certain this would not be the last time the two of them would compete together. He figured it was best to make a good early impression.

When he complimented Yuuri in the changing rooms afterwards, the boy blushed and muttered a shy ‘thank you,’ which Christophe found utterly adorable. Yuuri in general was quite cute, with his big glasses, pink cheeks and mussed up hair. He reminded Chris of a small and meek animal. Chris wished him luck for the future, Yuuri did the same for him, and then Chris left the changing rooms.

They didn’t really see each other much for a long time after that.

Christophe entered the Senior Division, and learned harder than he would’ve liked just how it felt to always come in second, at the very best, at every international competition he shared with Viktor Nikiforov. Viktor didn’t always win, not at first, but he was always at least better than Chris. Especially in the early years, it got to Chris a lot, still being a tender teenager at heart, and looking to find himself both on the ice and off it. He admired Viktor, looked up to him and in that way almost expected him to always be better, but…

It always was hard for Chris to motivate himself at the beginning of the skating season, because it tended to feel meaningless. Why was he trying so hard, when he wasn’t going to win anyway? But the fire still never went away, and it only burned hotter with every competition, as he could visibly tell he was getting better and better with every competition. By the time the finals rolled around, he was always at his most confident, as well as skating his best. He could almost believe that this was going to be the year he would finally beat Viktor.

Of course, he never did.

Not that he was in bad terms with Viktor; far from it. Viktor was still his inspiration for skating, one of the reasons why his fire to be on the ice and to compete burned so brightly. And although Viktor was by no means unaware of his own talent, he wasn’t arrogant about it either. He was honestly a pretty fun and nice guy to hang around with. They had each other’s numbers and followed each other on social media fairly actively. Whenever they were in competitions together, they always tried to make time to get together and do something. They would talk about skating and their coaches, school and balancing with everything else, but nothing more serious than that.

When they got older, they would talk about their love affairs, and seeing the sights tended to be traded for drinks and dance clubs. In the later years, more than once, if neither one of them wasn’t in any sort of entanglement, they would spend the night in each other’s rooms. It was light, fun and easy; just two young, free, beautiful men enjoying life and each other. Neither one of them ever kidded themselves into thinking it was something more serious than that. Honestly, Chris was probably one of the few people to have known Viktor for so many years, and yet for a long time he could barely have told any personal details about the Russian that couldn’t also be found in a magazine somewhere. The man was closed off.

It was about six years after his first encounter with Yuuri that Christophe finally met him again, after the younger had made his awaited debut in the Seniors. Chris had, however, been following Yuuri’s successful career in Juniors for a while now, knowing it was only a matter of time before he’d enter the Senior Division and become real competition. Chris could now tell the boy had talent, though he wasn’t always able to show it off as well or as cleanly as some others. Still, there was something about him that also set him apart, and Chris was almost excited to see where it would take him.

It was at their first competition together in the Senior Division that Christophe for the first time tried out a sexy routine for his skating, the mature sex appeal of which would later become his trademark. He and his coach had been talking about portraying a more adult image in his skating now that Chris had passed the age of 20. He and Yuuri were at the NHK Trophy competition together that year. Chris won gold there, seeing as Viktor wasn’t present. Yuuri came in last, flubbing nearly all of his jumps and only managing to gain some of his points back thanks to his presentation score. This time Chris had been sure to watch. And he had to reluctantly admit that although Yuuri had done badly, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the graceful, expressive way that he moved on the ice.

Chris honestly felt bad for the boy. He couldn’t imagine the humiliation of coming in last in your home country. Yuuri had probably lost any chance of making it to the Grand Prix Final this year, though nationals were still ahead for him, and possibly Four Continents and Worlds.

After the competition, at the banquet, Yuuri seemed gloomy. Chris marked upon this; the way Yuuri mostly hung near the walls and only seemed to talk to people when his coach insisted. Chris remembered the pleased smile on his face from years before, and figured that if he had cheered Yuuri up by a compliment before, he could do it again. It wasn’t like he had nothing nice to say, after all.

Yuuri, however, only seemed to withdraw more into himself at Chris’s attempts to talk to him, answering with as few words as he could. He bit his lower lip, and Chris’s eyes followed the way it reddened at the action. He had already noticed on the ice that Yuuri had grown into a beautiful young man. He still had a lanky physique for the most part, not that you could tell from the ill-fitting suit he was wearing, but there was strength to it, especially in his legs. His dark hair was shiny and his eyes expressive, his eyelashes long and his lips plush. The way his cheeks turned pink made him especially lovely to look at.

“Would you like to get out of here?” Chris asked, because he was nothing if not bold. It looked like Yuuri was having a rotten time, and Chris was honestly getting bored of this stuffy room with the same old people and same old thing. He might as well try his luck with an old and attractive acquaintance. They were both consenting adults, after all.

“Sure,” Yuuri said softly, and Chris followed him out of the ball room. They took the elevator up to the hotel floor that all the skaters were on.

“Thanks for…coming with me,” Yuuri mumbled in the elevator. “It made it easier for me to leave.”

“Hey, whatever works,” Chris winked. They had probably been a bit too obvious, but his coach was used to his antics and could probably come up with a good excuse. “It looked like you weren’t having much fun, so why not do something more interesting instead?”

Yuuri smiled a little, shrugging. Christophe honestly wasn’t getting many vibes off of Yuuri, nothing like the sexually charged energy he was used to with his other lovers. They weren’t even kissing. This was more like it was with Viktor; just easy simple fun without much attachment. Maybe Yuuri just wanted something to take his mind off things for a while? And Chris certainly didn’t mind being a distraction.

He let Yuuri take the reins to make him feel better, and allowing Yuuri lead him to his room. Yuuri opened the door with his key card and stepped inside. Chris was about to follow, but Yuuri stood in the doorway, blocking his path.

He smiled a bit at Chris again. “Thanks again. Good night, Chris.”

And then, Yuuri promptly shut the door in Christophe’s face.

Chris blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that. Was Yuuri playing coy? Did he like to be sought after, to be wooed? Well. If that was the way it was going to be, then…

Christophe and Yuuri kept running into each other at competitions. Yuuri was almost always at Worlds and the Grand Prix Series, being the best that Japan had to offer, but usually did not advance or place very high. Chris still watched him, found both his skating and his increasing beauty dazzling. The two of them usually exchanged a few words, and followed each other on social media. Christophe tried to make sure Yuuri knew he was always available for a night of fun, but Yuuri was a cold seducer who always seemed to shun him. Sometimes, he avoided him completely. Christophe knew to leave him alone on such occasions, sticking to the other skaters he knew were available those times, Viktor among them more than once.

Still, Christophe would’ve been more than ready to jump into bed with Yuuri anytime the younger man liked, but he also would’ve given up on trying if Yuuri had just outright told him he wasn’t interested. But Yuuri was a mystery in that way; he never said either yes or no, he just…slipped away, almost like he’d never been there. Chris couldn’t be sure if Yuuri was deliberately avoiding him, or just playing hard to get. One of the reasons he kept up with his attempts at seduction was simply to find out for sure. He didn’t want to miss out on his chance to be with Yuuri if all Yuuri wanted was to be chased.

Chris kept wondering what Yuuri was like in bed. Would he move with the same grace and awareness as he did on the ice? Would his passion, so hardly won after all the chill, be hotter than anything Chris had known? His curiosity was almost unbearable, and he was almost sure Yuuri could sense it because as Chris grew bolder and bolder, Yuuri seemed to grow colder and colder. Chris made a short program dedicated to him and his cruel tendencies in the game of seduction, and it helped him win gold at both his Grand Prix Series competitions.

But as the years went on and Yuuri continued to give him the cold shoulder, never responding to any of his seductions, Chris began to give up. It may also have had something to do with the fact that he knew he was slowly growing past the age of an average competitive figure skater. More and more of the people he had skated with retired and newer and younger faces kept popping up. Christophe knew things wouldn’t always remain the way they were now. He couldn’t keep on living just for the ice, and just for the people he met while skating. There had to be something outside of that too, just so he’d have something to live for once he no longer could compete. And he knew that that day would come someday, much sooner than he’d probably like.

He slowly began to date for more than just simple pleasure, and stopped sleeping around for the most part. He still didn’t turn offers down if he got some and he liked what he saw – he was, after all, by average standards still a young man – but he also began to think it might be nice to have something more permanent, something more lasting.

He tried one last seduction of Yuuri at Worlds in 2013. It didn’t take, as he hadn’t expected it to. But he knew then it was time to let go of that. It seemed Katsuki Yuuri would always be for him the one who got away. Yuuri’s fire would just have to be something he would never get to know. It was a shame, but he’d live.

It was before the start of next season that his coach introduced him to Louis, who was a former Swiss ice dancer and currently a choreographer. His coach wanted Chris to work with him for next season.

Chris liked Louis’s face. And when they shook hands, it felt warm. Louis understood the pull of the ice, and they worked well together. They had a lot in common in likes and dislikes, although by personality Louis was much calmer and down-to-earth than Christophe was. But Chris supposed he might need someone who would ground him, at least to some degree. They went on their first date just before the start of the season.

And Christophe was happy.

He was even happier that year at the banquet for the Grand Prix Final. As he watched Yuuri dance with Viktor like a man possessed, watched how the two of them moved together and smiled at one another, it was a bit easier to understand why none of his charms had ever worked on Yuuri. At least he had gotten one dance out of all his troubles.

 

+1

The first time Viktor Nikiforov met Katsuki Yuuri, he was just shy of 27 years old.

It was almost absurd in retrospect that they hadn’t known each other beforehand, since they had competed in the same tournaments before, and they also knew a lot of the same people. But the first time Viktor really met Yuuri was when the younger man turned down his offer for a photo by simply walking away without a word.

It had caught Viktor’s curiosity. He had been able to tell by the way that Yuuri had skated earlier that he was a fan of his. Just the way that Yuuri moved on the ice told Viktor he must be – he saw echoes of himself as Yuuri’s inspiration in a step there, in a spin there. Yuuri didn’t do so well in his jumps, but his steps and spins were exquisite; his musicality out of this world. It was almost disappointing that he had fallen so often and done so badly. And yet, despite being a fan, Yuuri hadn’t wanted a picture with Viktor. That was basically unheard of amongst his fans.

And Viktor was intrigued.

He kept an eye out for Yuuri at the banquet, but was eventually swept away by sponsors and boring conversation that he had begun to feel like had become a never-ending loop in his life, a record that he could not stop from playing because the player was broken. It had become the static soundtrack of his life. And Viktor put on a smile and said his rehearsed lines like a good boy. Until…

No one could look away from the scene Yuuri was making with Yuri Plisetsky, Yakov’s little protégé and one of Viktor’s rink mates. They danced together, trying to one-up each other, but even though Yuuri was drinking the whole time, it was clear he had the edge over the younger skater. Viktor couldn’t stop looking at the way that Yuuri moved, the way he seemed so free with his body, so liberated of every restraint or sorrow. This was something completely different, something that had never happened in any banquet ever, anywhere. Yuuri alone was making it happen.

And Viktor was elated.

Yuuri danced with Chris too, working the pole with him like a professional in just his underwear. Viktor couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe the strength Yuuri showed in his movements, how sexy and open he was with his charms. He danced like no one was watching and like he wanted everyone’s eyes on him at the same time. He teased all of them with his beautiful body and his strong muscles, the way they could all look but not touch.

Until he himself touched Viktor.

He’d put some of his clothes back on after his dance-off with Chris, and was now clinging and grinding on Viktor who couldn’t, possibly for the first time in his life, figure out a word to say. Yuuri was mumbling something in Japanese, his tie wrapped around his head, his face pink from the alcohol and exercise, and his deep brown eyes bright and gleaming as he looked at Viktor. He looked like him as if Viktor was everything, like he was the sun and the moon and the stars of Yuuri’s world. And Viktor couldn’t look away.

“Be my coach, Viktor!” Yuuri declared in English, jumping into his arms, and Viktor’s heart jumped in his chest.

The danced together, him and Yuuri, and Viktor became lost in his eyes, his touch, his movements. He didn’t know how long they spent dancing, but as far as Viktor was concerned, it could last forever and he’d be perfectly happy. He felt like he’d been asleep for so long, and now he was finally awake. Or that he’d been numb, and now he could finally feel again. The background static, the repeating record was finally quiet, and replaced instead with tones of flamenco and tango music; the music Yuuri created with his body as he danced with Viktor.

Still, all good things had to come to an end, and when Yuuri went to take a seat to catch his breath, Viktor knew this night of fun was over. Indeed, Yuuri passed out in his chair soon enough. Thankfully, however, Chris happened to know Yuuri’s room number and they managed to find his key card and get him to his bed, since it seemed his coach had disappeared mysteriously for the night.

Viktor went to sleep that night with his heart full of joy and hope. He couldn’t wait to see Yuuri again, to see him skate again. If Yuuri was that good of a dancer, Viktor was sure today was just a fluke. They’d meet at Worlds, and Yuuri would do better, and then they could talk. Viktor was already thinking thousand things he would say and express. Yuuri’s words echoed in his mind.

_“Be my coach, Viktor!”_

He fell asleep with a smile on his face, and a million plans in his mind.

Of course, it didn’t quite work out like that. Yuuri didn’t make it to Worlds, and Viktor didn’t hear about him for months after. Yuuri had very little social media presence, and Yuuri himself hadn’t reached out to Viktor. Viktor couldn’t believe Yuuri would be so callous like this, but Chris apparently could. He told Viktor that Yuuri was generally cold and had rejected him multiple times. Viktor turned these thoughts and the sorrow of his longing into plans for a short program about a playboy who seduced everyone he met, and then cast them aside when he was done with them. He played the way Yuuri and him and moved together in his mind as he choreographed the movements, commissioned music to fit the tune that Yuuri had led him in dance with. He was able to create something enticing and beautiful out of the mess that were his feelings. Something enticing and inviting and sexy. Eros.

And yet, he still couldn’t forget about Yuuri. Because it felt almost like Yuuri was the only thing that made sense in the world anymore. Things only came alive for Viktor when he thought of Yuuri. Just by having had his life touched by Yuuri’s presence once made it that much brighter and more colorful. So Viktor also planned a different type of program, one that was about love that didn’t need to be requited; one that simply made you better because you had felt it. Unconditional love. Agape.

And all this was why, when he saw the video of Yuuri skating his program, Viktor went to him. He couldn’t believe it could be anything but an invitation, a plea for Viktor to finally, finally come and follow the siren call of Yuuri. Of course, that didn’t turn out to be true either, but Viktor found he didn’t mind as much as he’d thought he did.

It took time and effort. Yuuri in real life was so different from the Yuuri Viktor had expected to find. He was nothing like the playboy he had imagined or had thought he’d met; rather, he was shy, skittish and lacked confidence. He avoided Viktor and blushed at the slightest touch. But he was also talented, kind, and warm. To say Viktor liked him as he was would’ve been an understatement; he came to adore the Yuuri he got to know, and grew to love. He couldn’t bring himself to believe he would’ve loved Yuuri this much even if he had been the dazzling Yuuri he had first encountered. The affection deepened the more time they spent together, the more they got to know each other. Yuuri slowly opened up and let Viktor in more, and the more of him Viktor saw, the more he loved. And he could tell Yuuri almost certainly at least liked him, too. Viktor had never felt this way about anyone. Nothing had ever been this genuine, this soft about his affection, yet at the same time this passionate and burning. It was the perfect balance with Yuuri, he found.

It took time and effort. Viktor had to work for Yuuri, something he had never had to do before with anyone. He had to find the right balance with how to approach Yuuri. It wasn’t really a game of chase, because Viktor had to ease on his seduction so that Yuuri wouldn’t push him away. But if he pushed the right amount, Yuuri gave in and back to him. And the gap became smaller with each step. And although it was more effort than Viktor had been expecting when he’d come to Hasetsu, he found he didn’t mind. It gave him the chance to really get to know Yuuri as he was, and for Yuuri to know _him_ as _he_ was. And Viktor found himself more grateful than he’d thought that all Yuuri seemed to want was for him to just be Viktor, be himself, rather than playing a role. Viktor wasn’t sure if anyone had ever asked him to just be who he was. He had growing to do, they both did, but growing with Yuuri made the journey much lighter, and more worth it to take.

It wasn’t really a game of chase. But Viktor finally, eventually, caught Katsuki Yuuri.

And it was the best thing that he had ever accomplished in his life, the ring on his finger the greatest gold he had ever won.

**Author's Note:**

> The idea behind the title and this fic is sort of that although your affection may be unrequited, it doesn't have to imply those feelings are meaningless. Just feeling them even without them being returned can give you something that will make its mark on your person, and you can still gain something from the experience, even if it makes you sad (for example, Phichit gets his friendship with Yuuri, Matsuko becomes a fan of figure skating, etc.).
> 
> Louis is a name someone on this site used for Chris's Mystery Man, and I liked that name for him so I've adopted it :3. If the one who came up with it sees this, I can credit you for the name if you want! And also, yes, Lara is supposed to be the "pushy girl from Detroit" that Yuuri mentioned in episode 4.
> 
> I'm on tumblr [here](http://nihonlove.tumblr.com).


End file.
